The Distant Crown
The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and expensive wine, a heavy, cloying sweetness that coated the back of your throat and seemed to thicken the air itself. You sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, fingers interlaced so tightly that the knuckles turned white, a silent testament to the internal pressure you were maintaining. The room was...
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